


Just Hold Me

by jarofhearts



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofhearts/pseuds/jarofhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was a child, all Fernando had was his violin to help him through the harsh reality of his parental home. Until, one day on a playground, he met Dan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Hold Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AwakeMySoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwakeMySoul/gifts).



> As almost all of these stories, this one is already a couple of years old. But it's still all for my dearest [AwakeMySoul](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AwakeMySoul/pseuds/AwakeMySoul), because of her love for "fingers!!!" and everything else. <3

_Will you tell me when the fighting’s over_  
 _Cause I can’t take, I can’t take no more_  
 _Will you tell me when the day is done_  
 _Cause I can’t run, I can’t run no more_

* * *

Fernando couldn’t even really recall later what the fight had been about, the whole thing such a usual occurrence that his mind hadn’t even bothered with storing it away as a memory to be pulled back to the surface of his consciousness and revisited later on.  
  
He was standing on his little stool in front of the kitchen sink, small hands dipping plates into hot water to scrub and rinse clean, thoughts busy with repeating the same melody over and over in his head, the one that had dutifully followed around since breakfast, waiting to be put into notes he didn’t even know how to write down yet. A spot on the pan was being particularly stubborn and Fernando furrowed his brows, the tip of his tongue sneaking out between his lips in firm concentration while he scrubbed the metal clean with more determination than skill. There was shouting in the living room, obscenities he was much too used to to even bat an eyelash at, _motherfucker, bastard, stupid whore_ , and he started to hum softly. When he was done he would go upstairs to his room and finish the…  
  
The sound of something heavy crashing to the ground startled Fernando so that he almost dropped the pan into the water and he looked back over his shoulder in time to see his mother bounding into the kitchen, his father right on her heels. She pulled her wrist from his grip, whirling around to start crashing her fists against her husband’s chest, screeching in rage. He tried to regain his grip on her, spitting out curses, and then she grabbed the bread knife lying on the counter along with the other cleaned up stuff waiting to be towelled dry, raising it blindly. He was quick enough to place a punch right onto her cheekbone, her head flying to the side and the knife out of her hand and Fernando, horrified and wide-eyed and head devoid of any coherent thoughts, ducked and ran, small wisps of white foam still sticking to his hands.  
  
He ran until front door, streets, houses, trees had flown past him, his heart hammering to the rhythm of his steps, and he didn’t stop until he had reached a playground just a few streets away and crawled into the small hollow room under the climbing house with the slide. Down there it was shady and hidden from view, his place to hide ever since he had found out that doing it in his own room just didn’t work.  
  
With shaking limbs and panicked breaths Fernando stared at the wooden boards across from him, their texture blurring and shifting in front of him as hot tears squeezed their way out of the corners of his eyes, tracing small, well known paths over his cheeks. He couldn’t shake the image of his mother raising that knife, no matter how hard he tried, it always elbowed its way towards the front of his mind again through every other thought he tried to distract himself with.  
  
 _Rain, rain, go away, come again another day…_  
  
His body was trembling despite his legs and arms drawn tightly towards himself, and he loved his parents but he hated them, didn’t understand them, so many conflicting emotions.  
  
 _Fucking witch, useless asshole, stupid cow…_  
  
 _Rain, rain, go to Spain, never show your face again…_  
  
“Why are you crying?”  
  
Fernando winced, eyes flying towards the space where he had crawled inside and another head had appeared, dark in front of the sun outside. He blinked and slowly some features came into focus, brown, dishevelled short hair, little snub nose, freckles.  
  
“I… I…”  
  
“Are you sad? We can play, I have a digger,” the boy offered, curious, tentative, somewhere in between, his head tilted to the side.  
  
Fernando hesitated, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, his fingertips still wizen. He opened his mouth and closed it again, and before he found an answer somewhere in his still jumbled mind the other boy tried again.  
  
“We can share? Come out, don’t cry, we play and I make you happy.”  
  
Fernando swallowed and blinked the last remains of his tears away, slowly giving up on his defensively curled posture. “Really?”  
  
“Really.” A grin spread on the other boy’s features and he reached one arm inside Fernando’s hiding place, fist curled with only his pinkie standing out. “I swear.”  
  
Fernando bit his lip, but in the end it took only a second for him to find what trust was left in him, reach out and entwine their little fingers.

 

***

 

Ten years later Fernando was standing at the same sink, washing the same dishes, his thoughts a million miles away.  
  
His mother had died in a car crash six years ago, that one time of drunken driving being one too many. His father…  
  
Fernando had continued going to school, his grades getting better the older he became. School by far not being the only time he didn’t spend at home. Even though there wasn’t ever enough work waiting there for him.  
  
“Fernando?”  
  
… well, his father was still there.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
He looked back over his shoulder distractedly to where his father was appearing in the doorway about three seconds later.  
  
“Will there be dinner?”  
  
Automatically Fernando’s gaze fell, drawn to the bottle of beer in his father’s hand, and his insides clenched into a tight, hard knot that barely ever had the chance of loosening up, even a little.  
  
“Dad… you said you wanted to stop. Again.”  
  
His own words sounding foreign to him, so often said that he couldn’t even consciously remember forming them. They were just… there. Practiced throughout the years like a car having driven the same road so often that it had left creases in the asphalt.  
  
“Don’t tell me what I want or don’t want,” his father mumbled and took a gulp. “So? Dinner?”  
  
He didn’t want to allow it, but he could feel the anger burning in his insides, bubbling up like in a long silent volcano, and before he had gathered the sense to shut his mouth it was already out.  
  
“No, dad, there won’t be dinner. Unless you make it yourself.”  
  
It was silent for a short moment except for the gentle sloshing of water around Fernando’s hands. Then, “What?”  
  
“You heard me,” the youth answered with forced calmness, refusing to look up. “Why don’t you do it yourself for a change?”  
  
“Why are we discussing this?” his father returned, and it made Fernando whirl around.  
  
“Because I’m not your servant!”  
  
“But as long as you’ve got your feet under my table and live under my roof you have your part to do! You’re still sixteen…”  
  
“Exactly!” Fernando shouted, having long lost control over the usually tight rein on his emotions. “I’m sixteen and I’m more mature than you ever were! I’m tired of having to take care of you, I’m your child, it’s supposed to be the other way around! So make your goddamn dinner yourself if you’re not already too drunk to do it!”  
  
The veins on his father’s forehead were throbbing dangerously but Fernando didn’t wait to see what form the eruption would take on. He sprinted past his father out of the kitchen, ignoring the shouted, “Fernando! Come back here at once!” as he bolted up the stairs to his room. There he grabbed one single thing before hurrying back down the stairs and out the door, barely catching the “You’re grounded!” before the door was falling shut behind him. Fernando snorted disbelievingly as he jogged down the street, a bitter ‘This is all you can think of?’ echoing accusingly in his head.  
  
He walked an all too familiar path, in his arms clutched tightly the one thing his parents had given him that had invoked more than passing thankfulness in him: his violin safely nestled in its case. Just as it was the one thing he was too afraid to leave in his room when his dad was in a rage. Because, well… who knew?  
  
The playground was empty that evening, thankfully, the swings gently moving to a rhythm a soft breeze was providing, squeaking ever so softly. Fernando sat down on one of them, his feet brushing the ground, slowly turning him this way and that, chin resting on the head of the violin case.  
  
Two years, just to be two years older. It was such a short moment compared to a lifetime, and yet they felt like a century. And it didn’t help that he had already been waiting for that one day for years. At least then he could _choose_.  
  
Maybe do what he had wanted to do all his life. Run as far as he could, not looking back, never looking back. Making something of his life, actually achieving something.  
  
It wasn’t that he had ever lacked dreams.  
  
Maybe he would turn his back on his childhood, lock away the bad memories into a safe deep inside his heart and move on. Keep the few good ones instead, smile about them once in a while.  
  
Another part of him would never want to leave his father on his own, not as he wasn’t… couldn’t… He was his family. His dad. Maybe he understood better what was happening now than he had years ago, why things were like this, but that didn’t mean it hurt even one fucking bit less.  
  
So this was the fight that had been raging in him for years, pulling him this way and that, always depending on… well, his father’s moods, really. And Fernando was getting so tired…  
  
He let his head sink against the chain holding the swing, staring off into space to listen to the lazy bustling of leaves up in the trees, arms still tight around the violin case. Maybe in its shell it enclosed what he really wanted. If he was just daring enough. But the thought… just the thought… and Fernando smiled.  
  
The sun was preparing to set over the roofs of the city and daylight would be following fast. His stomach was tentatively making itself known and the teenager knew that he had to give in sooner or later. So maybe he should go home. The one where neither a heap of work waited for him, nor his father.  
  
His gaze rested on the climbing house for a long moment before he got up and left, the swing squeaking softly in the abandoned air.

 

***

  
“Listen, I just wanted to tell you… maybe you’ve forgotten. But, you know, my audition for the Academy is today… in ten minutes, actually. Just in case you… Anyway… that’s it. Bye, dad.”  
  
Fernando slowly lowered his cell phone, snapping it shut when it didn’t do anything overly interesting after about ten seconds. He bit his lower lip and let his head sink back against the rough brick wall of the building behind him.  
  
Ten minutes.  
  
His dad hadn’t called.  
  
Had he actually thought he would?  
  
With a small, bitter laugh Fernando admitted to himself that it didn’t matter – he had hoped. Why he had was a riddle even to himself.  
  
“Fuck,” the young man mumbled and hit the back of his head against the wall again, this time on purpose. It sent a dull ache through his nerves and he shivered, not having brought out his jacket into the cold January air.  
  
Next to him the main door of London’s Royal Academy of Music swung open and it was silent for a moment until Fernando felt a warm, familiar presence next to him.  
  
“There you are,” a soft voice said, the tone enclosing a tentative question. “It’s your turn in ten minutes.”  
  
“I know,” Fernando sighed and turned his head to look at Dan. “I was… just…”  
  
He fingered his cell phone helplessly and unconsciously drew Dan’s attention to it.  
  
“He’s not going to call, is he?” was the next question, even gentler this time, and Fernando shook his head.  
  
“I guess I just hoped he would. But even though he said that he wished me luck before we left I don’t think that… that he really wants me to succeed.”  
  
Hearing the words out loud, even from himself, made Fernando’s throat close up, and he lowered his head only to be gathered in an embrace a heartbeat later. Warm lips brushed his temple and Fernando clenched his fingers in Dan’s pullover, trying to breathe in and out evenly, letting the familiar scent wash over him and take away the sting in his eyes.  
  
“You’ve taken care of him all your life,” Dan muttered next to his ear, ever his voice of reason, of self-preservation. “You’re going to do something for yourself now, and I’m not going to let you walk away from it. Alright?”  
  
Fernando pressed his eyes shut, tightened his grip on Dan almost desperately and was finally able to nod.  
  
“Why… why do I even care?” he choked out, the question having burned on his tongue for a small eternity.  
  
“Because he’s your dad.” Dan drew away just a little to be able to look into Fernando’s eyes, cupping his face between his hands as if it were the most precious thing the world had ever given him. “And despite everything you still love him. And that’s alright.” He paused only briefly to drop a kiss on Fernando’s forehead. “It’s just fine.”  
  
Letting the words sink in until they had time to find solid ground and strike root Fernando just breathed, eyes closed, anchored by the hands cradling his face.  
  
“Dan… I can’t do this without you…”  
  
“You know that you don’t have to,” came the soft, almost affectionately amused answer. “I told you that there are universities and jobs down here as well, not just in Liverpool. So many times. I still won’t leave you.”  
  
Finally Fernando opened his eyes to look into the brown-sprinkled green ones right before him where he could only read a smile, honesty, love. So much of it that with only a flick of its wrist it had his demons knocked out cold on the ground.  
  
Fernando knew that it was probably unhealthy. The amount of affection, of loyalty, of trust that he placed in one single person. To be this dependent on someone, anyone at all. To lay himself bare so unconditionally.  
  
But from the day Dan had stepped into his life with a digger and a freckled smile, Fernando had started, little by little, to project all that had been inside of him, that he had soaked up like a sponge that had never been squeezed, on him.  
  
On his best friend that had shown him how to laugh and play and be a kid all over again.  
  
On his brother that had taken him home to a family that had come to adopt him whenever he needed them, that loved and encouraged and supported him unconditionally.  
  
On his lover that had been given his first kiss, his first time, his first everything for safekeeping.  
  
On the man he had grown up with, his emotional twin that had and would always be first and always be last on his mind, that he would never get out of his system even if he tried.  
  
The one that was the axis to his universe.  
  
Yes, Fernando knew it was unhealthy.  
  
But it was also his saving grace.  
  
“Really?” he couldn’t help asking and the smile on Dan’s lips widened.  
  
“I swear.”  
  
Without ever breaking their locked gaze he held up his little finger and Fernando didn’t even have to look to find and entwine it with his own.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I know,” Dan winked and brushed Fernando’s lips with his, encouraging, reassuring but also just this side of sensual, easily igniting a small spark of desire in him.  
  
“Now go, it’s your turn. You’ll have them in your back pocket in no time, you’ll see, and I’m already so damn proud of you. Smile.”  
  
And as Fernando walked up to the jury of the Royal Academy of Music only heartbeats later, his violin held gently in his hands, it came as easy to him as breathing.

* * *

_But I will run until my feet no longer run no more_  
 _And I will kiss until my lips no longer feel no more_  
 _And I will love until my heart, it aches_  
 _And I will love until my heart, it breaks_  
 _And I will love until there’s nothing more to live for_

**~ Amy MacDonald ~**


End file.
